Consequences
by Mosin
Summary: Edmund prided himself on being a fair and just judge, but how can he condemn a convicted traitor when he was one not so long ago?
1. Visitors

**A/N**: I own no legal claims to this publication. It is for entertainment purposes only.The earth and all its inhabitants quake.

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"King Edmund?"

Edmund looked up from the books he was poring over and set down his cup of tea. "Yes?" The centaur in the doorway bowed slightly and then cleared his throat.

"Sir," he said. "Your presence is requested in the main hall. Your brother wishes to introduce you to some—some visitors, sir."

Edmund raised a brow but nodded. "Alright. I'll be there in a minute." The centaur left and Edmund closed the books unhappily. He had a lot of reading to do in preparation for the formation of a new treaty, and he was continually being interrupted. He understood the importance of his position, and he understood his responsibilities and obligations to the Narnians, but he had so much to learn and understand. It was exhausting.

In the great hall was Peter and with Peter were three visitors, all men, wearing dark coats and mud-stained boots. They looked agitated, and Edmund could tell by their body-language that they were tense. Something was going on.

"Peter," Edmund called out, bringing attention to his presence. All four men turned his way, and now Edmund could see the unease on his older brother's face. "You called?"

"Edmund," said Peter, voice low. "This is Dorian, Brutus, and Zachary. They are here to discuss a sensitive matter with you."

Edmund frowned a little and examined the guests with a careful eye. Dorian and Brutus looked similar—both had heavy set brows and dark hair, and both had sturdy, strong postures. Zachary was the anomaly with lighter hair and a thinner build, but he was also the one who concerned Edmund the most, for he continually examined the ground and was shuffling his feet as his debating whether or not to flee. Edmund sensed his unease and felt his own intensify.

"How may I be of service, gentlemen?" he asked cordially, adjusting his body so that he faced the three of them, his back towards Peter. Perhaps it was from his training with Oreius, but he seldom felt comfortable with his back to open space.

Dorian and Brutus exchanged looks. "We would prefer if King Edmund would speak with us in…a more private location, perhaps?"

Edmund blinked. "You wish to speak with me alone." It was not a question.

Brutus smiled, showing his teeth. "It is nothing against the present company, of course," he said, bowing slightly at Peter who nodded jerkily back. "But, like King Peter said, the matter is of a sensitive nature."

Edmund hesitated for a moment, and then turned slightly to Peter. "Well, then, Peter," he said, determined to keep his voice calm and even. "I suppose I will be escorting our guests to the back patio alone, then. Would you do me a favor and let our sisters and the serving staff know that we are not to be disturbed? Unless, of course," he turned back slightly to the three men. "You wish to indulge in some food and drink?"

"No," said Dorian immediately. "We do not wish any trouble."

Peter almost laughed, but composed himself at the serious look on Edmund's face. "Right, then," he said, clearing his throat. "Um. I suppose—I suppose I'll just…"

"I'm sure there is plenty of business for you to go in to, Peter," said Edmund. His brother was unaccustomed to his disappearance being requested. "If you will excuse us?"

It was a dark, rainy day and as the four took their seats on a patio overlooking the greens, a few drops fell from the sky. "Perhaps we should move inside," Edmund said, looking suspiciously up at the clouds. "I am sure we could find a secure location-,"

"-Please, your majesty," said Brutus, and now his tone turned urgent. "This is fine."

Dorian nodded and so did Zachary. Edmund frowned a little, feeling like a poor host, but did not dispute them. Dorian cleared his throat. "We require a legal influence."

Edmund blinked. "A legal influence?" he echoed, frowning as he looked at Dorian. "What do you mean? Do you require representation?"

Brutus exchanged a look with his companions. "We require more than representation," he replied. "We require representation, too, of course, but there is something more pressing…"

"Would it be possible," said Edmund, getting tired of the subtly. "For you to speak plainer?"

Dorian nodded. "My apologies, my Lord. But within the coming weeks the news will break that one of…our number…has committed a crime that, we expect, will warrant consequences undeserved by the criminal."

A rumbling of thunder and more raindrops fell from the cloudy skies. Dorian and Brutus looked nervously at Edmund as Zachary stared at his lap, saying nothing. Edmund ran a hand down his face. "You require a legal influence so that you may reduce the sentencing of a criminal?"

Dorian and Brutus nodded. "Yes," they said in unison.

Edmund shook his head confusedly. "So why are you here to see me? I am not a legal influ-,"

"-You are King!" Brutus exclaimed, his eyes wide and round. "You have all the influence!"

"You would do better to speak to my brother," said Edmund carefully. "If all you require is influence. Why, then, would you choose to speak to me alone?"

Brutus and Dorian looked uncomfortably away, and it was a moment before Dorian spoke up. "Because, my Lord. We hope that you will find cause to sympathize with the criminal." He took a deep breath. "For you once committed a similar crime."

Edmund froze. "I beg your pardon?"

"The crime," said Brutus slowly, hesitantly. "Is treason."

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To Be Continued

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I will judge blamelessly. I firmly hold its pillars. -Psalms 75:2 


	2. Negotiations

**Note:** Thank you for your kind reviews! I appreciate each of them very much :). I hope that I did not make too many linguistical mistakes and that you continue to enjoy this story.

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The problem was that he was supposed to be just—and, of course, he _was_ just—but he was also human, and that, above all else, was what was making the entire situation so confusing. He tried to listen to Brutus (he really did), but his mind was spinning and his heart was beating so fast and it was starting to rain and he couldn't quite breathe…

"He is a tortured sole, King Edmund." Brutus sounded regretful. Edmund kept a straight, emotionless face and stared past his visitors, into the stormy sky. "You cannot begrudge him his pessimism, can you? Certainly not. His very nature is contrary to happiness!" Brutus shook his head and beside him Dorian nodded in agreement. "He is not like his family; not like his countrymen. Perhaps he tries but he is not, and this in itself—this is not a crime, yes?"

Edmund noticed they were waiting for an answer, staring at him, and he cleared his throat and shook his head slightly. "Being a pessimist? No. No, that is not a crime."

"There, then," Brutus smiled happily. This unsettled Edmund who ran a hand down his face. "Logically, one could argue that, should this person not be so pessimistic, not have this unfortunate nature, he would not have committed the crime that he is accused of." A pause. "Right, King Edmund? Is that not the logical way of looking at this situation?"

Edmund thought for a moment, frowned, and then looked at Brutus. "What?" he said absent-mindedly. "No—no, that's not right at all. That's not an excuse for committing treason!" He snorted. "You aren't innocent because you committed the crime in a bad mood."

Brutus laughed good-naturedly. "Of course, of course," he said easily. "You're right, of course. That is not at all what I was suggesting." He glanced at Dorian and then looked back at Edmund. "I meant only to say that his unfortunate mood may have increased his predisposition to committing such a crime, and should he have been a more agreeable person; why, I think perhaps he would have gained a company that would not have allowed this act to have happened."

Dorian cleared his throat. "What Brutus is trying to say is that this person was not the clearest of thinkers. He acted often without a justifiable thought."

Edmund suddenly felt very exhausted and he held the bridge of his nose. "He was rash?" Brutus and Dorian nodded and Edmund blew out his breath. "Is he guilty of treason?"

There was silence, and then, for the first time since his introduction, Zachary spoke. Huddled behind Dorian his eyes never left the ground, and his voice was low and hushed. "Yes."

Edmund blinked and then pulled away from the table. "If he's guilty of treason he will be punished with the appropriate punishment," he said. "That is the law of this land and it will be observed." He looked at Dorian and Brutus respectively. "I cannot make exception because the guilty one was of bad nature. I can't make exception for personality. That would not be fair."

He stood from the table and extended his hand. Brutus and Dorian both shook it, and as they pulled apart Brutus said softly, "What about forgiveness, King Edmund?"

Edmund's eyes flashed as he looked at Brutus. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Lion showed you mercy, did He not?"

"He did. Of course He did."

Brutus smiled. "Then why not extend the same mercy to our friend?"

Edmund's jaw tightened and his dark eyes narrowed. "I am not Aslan," he said harshly. "If you wish to speak to Aslan you may do so and I will not stop you, but I do not pretend to Him."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "We're not asking you to be like the Lion," he said. "We're asking you to get off your high horse and pardon our friend. He was not in his right mind." He looked piercingly at Edmund. "You know all about that, don't you, your highness?"

Edmund was sick and tired of the entire conversation. He motioned for a servant to see his guests out. "Thank you for visiting," he said stiffly. "I am sorry I could not have been of more help."

As they left the castle, Dorian turned back to look at Edmund, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver down the young king's spine. He knew he had not seen the last of them.

But to pardon a traitor? He could not do that. He could not do that to Narnia, to his family, or to Aslan. He was just; not merciful. Fair; not forgiving. It was not his job to judge one's character; only one's crime.

He went to find his siblings, but his hands trembled slightly as he walked.

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To Be Continued

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	3. Discussions

**A/N**: Thank you again for your constructive comments. They help very much when I write and I appreciate the time and effort it takes for them to be written. I hope my readers continue to find this story worth reading!

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Peter stood waiting for him at the base of a staircase, his arms folded over his chest, his blue eyes narrowed a bit. Edmund sighed a little and approached him. He should have known some sort of confrontation was inevitable, but that did not make it any easier to accept.

"Legal business, Peter," he said crisply, looking square into his brother's eyes. The rain continued to pour heavily outside and a crack of thunder rattled a nearby suit of armor. "And because I have a duty to uphold confidentiality, I'm afraid your curiosity is going to have to go unsatisfied."

Peter was not going to accept such a vague answer, and he raised a brow at his younger brother. "Why did they want to speak to you alone?" he demanded. Edmund shrugged and feigned carelessness, hoping that no one save himself could hear his thundering heart or see how his hands shook.

"Like I said," he replied, pretending to find a spot on the wall fascinating. "Confidentiality."

Peter laughed a little and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Edmund," he said with humor Edmund found rather patronizing. He frowned a little but did not pull away. "Come, now. I understand that you cannot broadcast such 'legal matters' to the entire court, but surely _I_ am privy to _some_ specifications!"

Edmund narrowed his eyes. "Are you speaking as my brother or as the High King?" he asked, voice without an ounce of comedy. He was not normally so sharp nor so uncouth, but his unease had made him tense, and such tension had brought out the side of him he usually made all attempts to suppress.

Peter's smile faded slightly but did not wholly disappear. "I'm speaking as your brother," he said, removing his hand from Edmund's shoulder. "As your _brother_, Ed."

The rain continued to fall. Edmund shivered; he was suddenly cold.

"Is everything alright?" Peter was concerned. "What sort of legal business did those men want? I've never seen them before. Do you know from where they journeyed from?" Edmund shrugged listlessly and muttered something about foreigners, and Peter thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should offer them a room? The weather is only going to get worse and they must be hungry."

He made as if to call for someone to bring back Dorian, Brutus, and Zachary, and Edmund's eyes widened in horror. "No!" he said quickly. "No. They said to me that they were not hungry, and-and that they needed to be on their way." Now he was lying. He needed to be on his own before he did something to seriously regret. "Really, Peter. That is not necessary." He bit his lip. "They were visitors to Narnia, but not strangers to it."

Peter nodded slowly. "I do hope you were courteous, Ed," he said, pricking one brow suspiciously. Edmund rolled his eyes.

"As always, Peter," he said with plainly false cheer. They began walking through the corridor together. "I thought you were going to allow me to conduct my business without supervision now that I am older?"

Peter frowned a little but nodded resignedly. "Yes," he agreed, recalling having made such a promise. "And I have given you plenty of independence when it comes to your duties, have I not?"

Both brothers nodded politely at a passing centaur and Edmund cleared his throat. "You have," he granted. "And now I must ask you, again, to respect the confidentiality between myself and my-my clients." Was that the right label for such visitors as he had just seen? Clients?

Peter looked at him carefully. "You would tell me if something was wrong?" he asked. "You would come to me if you had a problem or if something was happening?"

Edmund's heart skipped a beat, but he brought a small smile to his lips and nodded once. "Of course, Peter." He swallowed thickly. "You know me."

Peter paused for another moment before smiling again and clapping his brother on the back. "Good, then," he said. "I will let you conduct your 'legal business' in peace."

Edmund's smile seemed to burn upon his face and his stomach felt queasy, as if he could not quite digest the fact that his sense of justice had been both exposed and reinforced in a matter of hours.

For the first time in his reign, he was not sure justice was enough. He was not sure it was pertinent.

* * *

Two and a half days later the storm had cleared and the rain had dried upon the ground. The sky, however, was still grey; still intoxicated with the threat of imminent bad weather. Edmund was reading sent to him from a patrolling officer who had been sent to validate border security while he munched on his morning toast and sipped on a cup of hot tea. Across from him Susan was doing needlework, a hobby she had picked up a while back and spent mornings contenting herself with.

"Does the report appear alright?" she asked her younger brother, taking a sip of her own tea. Edmund nodded as his eyes grazed over the print.

"The borders appear secure and the people contented," he said happily. He folded the letter and set it aside for Peter to read as his convenience, and enjoyed a few bites of his toast.

"I hope this rainy spell ends soon," said Susan as her eyes searched for traces of sunlight. "It's rather difficult to be cheerful when there is no sun, isn't it?"

Edmund shrugged and nodded at the same time. It was also hard to be cheerful when one's mercy and sense of justice were being threatened. Though neither Brutus nor Dorian had contacted him since their last meeting, Edmund could not help but expect for them to reappear soon. He seemed chronically apt to glance always over his shoulder when his back was not facing a wall, and every letter delivered to him made him leery. He was uneasy, and trying to conceal this as well as he could from his family.

"SUSAN! EDMUND!" Lucy ran out to the deck, her long hair flying behind her like a cape as she rushed out to meet her sister and brother. "Peter says come quick!"

"Whatever for?" Susan asked as she hurried to her feet, Edmund doing the same, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Lucy's eyes flickered to Edmund's face, and when she spoke her voice was hushed and fearful. "He says he has received word of a plot," she said. "A plot to take away our authority."

Susan looked at Edmund, mouth gaping. "But that is impossible," she said breathlessly. "Aslan would never allow such a thing to happen!"

Edmund closed his eyes briefly. "Let's go find Peter," he said.

And lightening split the darkening sky.

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To Be Continued

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	4. Messenger

**A/N**: Thank you for your reviews! I hope you continue to find this story worth reading :). I am also sorry that I was slow in updating; I have a family member who is ill and unfortunately I am not in the same country as he, so it is rather difficult and consumes more time than perhaps it ought to. I will try to update faster.

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_Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward. _

-Job 5:7

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"They want an election."

Edmund's eyes narrowed and he looked sharply at Peter. His hair was messy from the fingers he had been raking through it, and he stood stiffly, a fist to his mouth. Outside the rain was just beginning to fall, and advancing clouds brought a premature darkness over to the palace.

In his hand, Peter held a letter that had been recently delivered to him. Its contents spelled treason.

"An election?" Susan echoed, her voice contorted in disbelief. Her hands on her hips, Edmund thought she looked considerably formidable and an awful lot like their mother. "Surely they are not serious."

Peter shook his head. "They are serious," he said gravely. "They wish the right to choose their own leaders and representatives, and are requesting an immediate election."

"But Aslan put us here!" Lucy protested. "The prophecy! They know about the prophecy!"

Peter and Susan exchanged severe looks and Edmund blew out his breath and turned to his sister. "Whoever sent that letter does not look to honor Aslan, Lucy," he said, voice low. "They have a different goal in mind." He looked at Peter. "Is the letter dated?" he asked him.

Peter glanced down at the parchment. "No," he said.

Edmund nodded once. "And does it say where it was sent from?"

"No," said Peter. "That was the first thing I checked, I assure you."

Edmund took a step forward, intending to read the letter himself. He had connected its arrival with the visits of Dorian and Brutus almost immediately, but the connection was deeper than the obvious and that bothered him. "How is it signed?"

Peter made a face. "Read it," he said, offering up the letter. "That's the most troubling part." Edmund took the letter and held it up to the light. It read:

_To the Kings and Queens of Narnia,_

_I wish no war, but the diplomacy necessary to secure an honest and open parliament. I am of an assortment of Narnians who feel as though they lack representation, and they wish very much to see that altered. We are an assortment who feels that it is unjust to have to answer to authorities of which we had no say in appointing, and we feel very strongly that this must soon change. _

_We request immediate elections to determine fair and applicable rulers of this land. We will be waiting for notice of when these elections will take place._

_Cordially,_

_The Enlightened _

Edmund lowered the letter from his gaze slowly, a deep frown on his face. "The Enlightened," he read aloud, shaking his head slowly. "They're demanding, aren't they?"

"Demanding?" Peter laughed humorlessly as Edmund passed the letter to Susan. "They give us no choice—they think we will just comply without any response? The arrogance!" He was very offended.

Edmund opened his mouth to reply when Oreius hurried up to Peter. "Sire," he said urgently. Behind him came more guards, one of them restraining a struggling boy. Edmund knew he could not be more than fourteen or fifteen. "We have brought back the messenger and he has agreed to tell us where the letter came from and who instructed him to deliver it!"

Peter grinned and nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Oreius," he said loudly, shifting his gaze to the boy who stopped struggling and just stood limply in the arms of the guard who held him. "What is your name?" Peter asked him, voice hard, but not merciless. Forceful, but not unkind.

The boy shook his head quickly, almost as though he were terrified. Peter sighed shortly.

"I thought you said he was willing to talk?" He looked up at Oreius.

Oreius grunted. "He said he was, your Majesty." Susan took Lucy's hand and lead her down the corridor a bit to address a group of concerned spectators, leaving Edmund and Peter to deal with the messenger.

"You are not in trouble," Peter continued, staring piercingly at the boy. The boy closed his eyes and bit his lip. "Come, now," said Peter, and his voice turned warm, gentle, almost fatherly. Edmund frowned and his stomach turned; there was something about this he did not like.

"Please," said the boy, his voice small. "I-I was only asked to deliver it! I n-never read it, I promise!"

Peter smiled warmly again. "I believe you," he replied. "But the letter's content is a bit…worrisome…and we really do need to know where it came from." A pause. "Now, please. You do not have to tell me your name, but-,"

"-Jonah," said the boy. "That's my name. Jonah."

Peter smiled and motioned for the guard to release the boy. Edmund continued to feel sick, and his frown deepened as Peter's hand went to Jonah's shoulder. "Thank you, Jonah," he said kindly. "Now. Who gave this letter to you to deliver?"

Jonah's eyes squeezed shut and he seemed to struggle with himself. "I-I'm not supposed to say," he said finally, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper. Peter nodded understandably and guided him over to a comfortable chair.

"Sometimes," he said congenially. "Doing the right thing can be hard, but Aslan always guides us to goodness, and we should never hesitate to do his bidding." Another smile. Edmund cringed and turned away, covering his mouth with his hand. He was cold, all of a sudden, and adrenaline was cursing through his veins, making his heart beat fast. He wanted to run.

But why?

"Please, Jonah? You're very brave, I know, and for Narnia's sake, for Aslan's sake, I do need to know who sent you with this letter."

Jonah took a breath. Thunder cracked outside. A centaur coughed. Lucy's voice, light and flowing, drifted down the hall. Edmund's ears rang, rang, rang.

"Please, Jonah?"

Thunder. "He did not tell me his name. But-but he told me I was to give the letter directly to King Peter. He said I-I was not to give it to King Edmund."

Edmund looked up sharply and Peter's smile melted into a frown. "Why?" he breathed.

Jonah looked as if he were in pain. "I promised," he whimpered. He covered his face with his hands and leaned forward on the chair, looking as guilty and tormented as any person could look. He was so young. Edmund's heart constricted with pity and he stepped forward.

"Peter," he said lowly. "Perhaps you should-,"

"-No," Peter snapped, looking sternly at Edmund. "This is about the safety of Narnia. If he knows something it is his duty as a servant of Aslan and a citizen of Narnia to tell us everything!"

Jonah was trembling. "I just want to go home," he whispered. "Please. I don't know what will happen if I-if I tell and I j-just want to go home."

Peter looked at him, and when he spoke all geniality had left his voice. "We need to know everything you can tell us," he said. "And then I can let you go home."

Jonah closed his eyes and tears escaped his lashes. "I told you too much already," he said.

"Aslan appointed us," Peter reminded him. "Your loyalty is to us, Jonah, not to whoever paid you to deliver this letter."

Jonah looked up. "If I tell you too much," he said softly. "I will betray my family."

Edmund looked away, his own eyes falling briefly shut. He ran a hand yet again through his hair. Peter spoke carefully. "Aslan will protect you," he said. "And he will protect your family, if they are loyal to him."

Jonah shook his head.

Peter looked up at Oreius, his jaw taught. He was running out of patience. His authority had been questioned, he was concerned about underground conspiracy, and his only link to discovering who had sent the offensive letter was refusing to speak.

"Perhaps if you stayed for dinner," he suggested slowly. Jonah started to protest, but Peter interrupted him. "I insist," he said. "Surely you have a favorite dish. As our respected guest, we would prepare it just as you like."

A favorite dish? Respected guest?

Edmund looked at Peter suddenly in horror, and his gaze went from his brother to Jonah, and then back to his brother again. He realized why he was feeling so sickened. This interrogation of Jonah, of a _child_, was familiar to him because he had experienced it, too, at one point.

Except instead of Peter conducting the examination, it had been the White Witch.

Edmund shuddered. His brother was justified in wanting to get to the root of the threat—but at what cost? Brutus and Dorian had appealed to a sympathy for traitors they assumed Edmund possessed, and if young Jonah was a traitor for not speaking honestly to Peter, and if Edmund's sudden onslaught of sharp and unrelenting pity was directed at his plight, than they had, one some level, been correct.

The thought shook Edmund to his core. Who was he to be called the Just?

Edmund turned and left the corridor. He could not bear to watch any longer.

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To Be Continued

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	5. Bitterness

**A/N**: Thank you so much for your feedback. It is so much appreciated, and I can only hope the story continues to be worth reading.

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_Great men are not always wise._

-Job 32:9

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Night.

Wholly irrelevant, inevitably long…And yet still Edmund tried to sleep. He was not, of course, successful, and this did not surprise him as he gave up the idea of rest and put on his robe. If sleep was impossible, then he would get work done. Anything was better than lying awake, staring at the ceiling, while memories flashed through his mind, painful and ceaseless.

No rain. No stars, but no rain and the palace was quiet. He had always liked the night; he had always liked the solitude and the quiet. He liked being the only one awake, the only one walking around—the only one looking up at the sky. There was something to that.

He went to a library and sat down at a desk, and pulled out a history book and then his mind did not wander because now it had something there, something present, to think about. Memories, Edmund believed, were the result of idle, undirected thoughts. Byproducts of languor.

The book spoke of dictators. Wars caused by intolerance and indulgence; deaths that led to riots, riots that lead to deaths. A God-less existence in a world of voracity and egocentricity. Edmund took a certain degree of pleasure from reading about the injustices of governments passed, because he was not part of them, nor was he much like them. To be incomparable to a derisive tyrant, to a merciless maniac, surely that was worth something?

Surely that was a sort of atonement.

The library was dark, and Edmund's candle flickered a little. Wind. Still no rain. Silence.

The letter had called for elections. No war, just diplomacy. They wanted democracy, and immediate elections, and they wanted to be represented by those they deemed fit. They wanted America, Edmund thought dryly, thinking back to before they had journeyed into the wardrobe.

Of course they could not be allowed to vote! Edmund laughed at the thought. Not only was that a preposterous idea (for himself, Peter, and the girls were as good of leaders as any, he felt), but it was against the wishes of Aslan. Aslan had appointed the leaders of Narnia, and to question his judgment was heresy!

Elections! Preposterous.

Edmund tried (he really did) to focus on the history, but his brain had a mind of its own and did not easily heed his halfhearted commands. A heavy thought rested upon his heart and he did not want to think about it, but he could not ignore it. He could not ignore the fact that he did not agree with his brother's interrogation strategies.

The look on the poor child's face…

Edmund knew that look. He knew that feeling. He knew what it was like to face the accuser, give information that did not want to be given, betray those who would not in turn betray simply because the alternative did not seem acceptable.

It was a very long night.

* * *

"I don't suppose I have time for breakfast."

Peter made the announcement grandly as he entered the hall, dressed and looking as king-like as possible. Susan clicked her tongue. "Surely you do," she said. "Be reasonable, Peter."

"There's plenty of it," Lucy added cheerfully, putting jam on her buttered toast. Edmund sat sandwiched between his sisters, his tea half-drank and his food untouched. He was not hungry, but unlike Peter he saw no need to pretend his lack of starvation was a result of duty.

"No, no," said Peter, shaking his head gravely. "I am conducting a meeting with Oreius and the council to determine what is to be done regarding that letter."

Edmund frowned. "If you can wait a moment," he said, raising his tea to his lips and standing, making his way over to Peter. "I will only be a minute-,"

"-Ah-," said Peter, looking suddenly uncomfortable. He scratched the back of his head. "That will not be necessary, actually—see—the meeting—it is rather a private affair-,"

Edmund blinked. "Private," he echoed. "But surely, as king, I am to be included-," Peter was shaking his head, looking apologetic, but firm. Edmund's jaw tightened. "May I ask why my presence is not allowed at this 'meeting'?"

Peter sighed. "The messenger-boy would only tell us that he was instructed not to give the letter to you. Oreius and I have both concluded that it would be wisest not to involve you in the proceedings, both for your own safety and for—well, for diplomacy."

Edmund could have laughed at the irony. Here he was, King Edmund the Just, and he was being shunned from a political strategy because of _diplomacy_!

"I see," he said heavily. "Then what is it I am supposed to do, Peter?"

Peter smiled and placed a hand on Edmund's shoulder. Squeezing it gently, he said, "I am sure you have plenty of paperwork."

As if he were his father! Edmund felt white-hot anger curse through him. First he mercilessly interrogates an innocent child, then he bans his own brother from a crucial political meeting, and now he was going to be patronizing?

"Where is the boy?" Edmund snapped. Peter frowned at his tone. Edmund grew impatient. "The boy," he repeated sharply. "The messenger from last night? Where is he? Where are you keeping him?"

Peter spoke carefully. "He is being given all that he requires-,"

"-Where are you keeping him, Peter?" It was not a question. It was a demand.

Peter took a moment before answering. "Perhaps it would be best if kept private," he said slowly. Edmund scowled and, cussing under his breath, set down his tea and strode angrily out of the hall.

"Edmund!" Lucy called after him, but he ignored her (as hard as it was to do).

He rounded the corner and took the corridors down until he reached the front of the Cair, and once there he spoke to a centaur guard. "Excuse me," he said urgently. "I need someone to tell me where the messenger-boy from last night is being held. It is important."

The centaur had no idea of the controversy. "Certainly," he said pleasantly. "One moment, and I will have someone take you."

* * *

The boy was not being kept in a dungeon, and Edmund found himself relieved. He ought not to have been so surprised (Peter, for all his interrogative similarities to the White Witch, was certainly not cruel) but he was, and then he noticed something.

"Why is there a lock on the door?" he asked quickly, fingering it.

"The High King requested it," said the faun who had led Edmund to the guest room cheerfully. "It is not a problem, your majesty. I have a key, see?" He held it up and Edmund nodded.

Why the jump to paranoia? he wondered. Was the letter so unsettling that it warranted this?

The faun unlocked the door and then handed Edmund a spare key after expressing surprise and regret that he had not already received one. "Thank you," Edmund said stiffly. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and pocketing the key.

"Hello?" The room was dark and Edmund lit a few lamps as he stepped through the short hallway. "Hello? This is Edmund. I just want to talk to you."

He heard a small sniffle, and stepped forward. After a moment his eyes had adjusted and he saw a small figure curled up against a wall. The boy.

"Hey," said Edmund softly, gently, as he crouched down. The boy looked terrified, and he tried to back away. Edmund felt a pang of sharp sympathy. "It's okay," he promised. "I won't hurt you. I just want to talk." A beat. "My name is Edmund."

The boy closed his eyes and a tear escaped. "I know," he whispered. "I have something for you."

Edmund froze, his brows furrowing. "Something for me?"

The boy nodded, wiped a few tears off his face, and then pulled something out of his vest pocket. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way," he said, voice shaking terribly. "I-I was supposed to give this t-to you tomorrow b-b-but then they locked me up." Fresh tears fell. "I didn't do anything wrong," he cried. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Shh," said Edmund gently. "Don't cry. I know you didn't." But his eyes saw only one thing.

In the boy's hand was a letter.

* * *

To Be Continued

* * *


End file.
